Analytical
by Snarky-Teen
Summary: Max has ADHD. And is analytical. And doesn't process emotion very well. But that's OK because she loves music . . . and Fang. Wait! No no no! She hates Fang, even though he's interesting. T because paranoid and not sure if there'll be epic fight scenes. The flock included.
1. Prologue

A heavy bass throbbed out of a two story house with a for sale / sold sign on the very edge of the somewhat emaciated lawn right next to the sidewalk, followed by a long and mourneful note drawn out and held, clearly the work of a violin. To whom it belonged to, Nick didn't know, but he wanted to find out.

The music spoke to him, touched his soul, and made him feel . . . different.

Nick was interrupted from his musings by soft, gentle tapping on his door and the quiet, barely noticeable squeek of the hinges— that's going to drive him insane if he doesn't fix that soon. A little girl with angelic blue eyes and bouncy blond curls poked her head through the doorway.

"Nick, Mom said we're going to the new neighbor's house, you know, the one that Maya—"

"Thanks, Angel." He said with a very obvious grimace, "Let her know I'll come down soon."

Angel's eyes filled a little with tears, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . ." She drifted off as her big brother came and scooped her up into his arms. She buried her face into his black hair and cried a little for him.

"Shh, it's okay. It's not your fault. Calm down, it's okay." He whispered as he rocked her from side to side. Angel sniffled. She pulled back and gave him a small smile.

"Love you."

"Love you too. Now go get! I must get ready for the oh-so-boring dinner to come!" He switched tones, hoping to lighten the mood. It worked.

Angel scampered off to let his mom know and for him to 'get ready'. Sadly, he turned back to look at the framed photo of her. Shoulder- length, light brown hair highlighted with natural blond, and sparkling brown eyes. Maya. His girlfriend, or at least was his girlfriend. She died from a drunk driver, barely two weeks ago.

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**i know it's super short but please give it a chance, if at least three people review I'll post my second chapter (even though this is more of a prologue) tonight/tomorrow/immediately. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 1

Max sprung to the door as if the doorbell was her master and flung it open. In half a second, she had scanned every face in the group in front of her, deduced that the cute boy her age was adopted, and was promptly bored with them. So, she closed the door again.

But she more than likely used too much force, slamming the heavy oak on accident. At least, that's what she assumed based on the next sentence delivered by her kind and caring mother, Valencia.

"Maximum Martinez! Did you just slam the door on our guests?" As you can probably tell, she was livid, (Max noticed because the features of her face shifted slightly in small proportions.)

"Oops?"

Valencia sighed and slumped her shoulders and decided to punish her daughter while she held her attention. She would just have to make herself more interesting to the analytical, ADHD teenage girl in front of her.

"Max." She made her tone a very minescule amount higher than normal which caused Max's head to snap to her sharply. It was Change. It confused Max. "Honey, open the door and apologize to them, then lead them to the dining room." The entire time Max stared, enraptured by her constantly moving hands and changing voices. Her brain analyzed everything at lightning speed as nodded absentmindly, still shocked at Change.

She moved gracefully towards the door and twisted the round, metal door knob.

"I apologize for my actions. Follow me." Her voice was flat, no emotion. These people were boring, so she didn't see the need to provide excitement; she could be down in her basement now, but, alas, she was stuck with flat people. Well, except for the cute one.

Dark hair, different shades of black (ebony, night, charcoal), dark eyes with small flecks of gold that reflected in the light, and dark clothes (extremely dark navy blue jeans, black converse, black shirt). So monotone, yet, colorful.

He was interesting.

The boring wife (with honey blond hair, a definately shocked expression, and colbat eyes) of the boring dude spoke up in a perky, polite, boring voice that Max's 'specially trained' ears picked up on subtle traces of 'What the fuck?'.

"Hello, and what might your name be?"

Max sighed. Social interaction? Really? Today? But she wanted to be lazy today, her day! Her voice still flat, "My name might be Sylvia—"

"Oh, what a pleasant name."

"Or it might be Max. Or Joe. Or Samantha." She continued on as if she had never been interrupted.

Luckily, Valencia came in to save the poor woman from having to respond, but she definitely noticed the nasty glare the cute, adopted one shot at her. "Excuse her, please. She has a . . ." She quickly glanced at her daughter questioningly; Max gave a slight nod of consent. "She has a medical condition."

"What is it?" Cute-adopted-boy sneered. "Ass-hole-syndrome?"

His mother looked appalled, but Max quickly shot back, "No, actually. But you might want to go to a doctor for a check up."

Valencia intervened, "Again, please excuse her." To Max she Changed and said, "Do you want me to make you stay the entire time?" Her eyes followed every motion, flitting around her mother's always moving face and hands. She shook her head. Valencia stopped Changing and addressed the family, "She has severe ADHD, photographic memory, and, well, has a form of autism. She can't process emotions like us, she relies on mathematical formulas to figure it out."

Their jaws dropped and immediately Max scanned all of them in rapid fire motion, as if proving the truth.

"Come sit down at the table, I've cooked dinner and we musn't let it get cold." Numbly, they followed, surprised to see Max the enigma going about each plate and serving food, different proportions per plate. The newcomers noticed that some plates of food were missing something while other had extra.

"Perky-voiced, blond-wife. Sit here." She pointed to a vegetarian plate. "Boring dude with the engorged gut. You're here." She led him to a plate stuffed to the edge with lots of meat with a tiny serving of vegetables. "Adorable Angel. You'll be here, Sweetie." She carefully placed her in a tall chair with a plate full of sweeter things from the dinner, but not as full as her father's. "Fake serious teen. I refuse to treat you differently, just follow my voice and try not to bump into anything." Said teen with slightly formal clothes that he looked uncomfortable in, cautiously walked forward with a shell-shocked expression. (He thought she missed him entirely. And she saw he was blind!) "Fork on the right, potatoes at one-sixteen, chicken at six-nineteen. And you," she looked at Nick, "will have to sit next to me."

His plate was bare, (as was hers and her mom's.) Valencia sighed, Changed, then spoke. "Max, remember, we said that if you were going to serve some people, you had to do every bodies plates."

"But you don't like it when I set up your plate, and I serve myself last, always."

"What about him? Why so mean to him?"

"I'm not being 'mean,'" she quoted. "He has trust issues and prefers to control what he can." Max sat down.

"Max!"

"It's okay." The boring-wife piped up. "She's right." Max smirked, but otherwise did not reply.

Soon chatter filled the air, but she didn't participate. Nor did she touch her food, instead, she dipped her pointer finger in her glass and proceeded to draw on the table with water, retreating off into her own little world. Her feet tapped an irregular beat as she began to him quietly, then started to sing with a crystal clarity that vibrated thought he room. Abruptly, she pushed back her chair, shifted her beat from her toes to her fingers and walked out of the room singing a song nobody had heard of.

When her beautiful voice faded, the silence broke.

"What the heck?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me go get her, she must have gotten bored, I'll be right back." She went to move as if to get up, but the guest women stopped her.

"Please, it's fine . . ."

Valencia smacked her forehead.

"I'm so stupid. My name is Valencia Martinez, I work at the veterinary office down the road. Maybe we should all introduce ourselves. After I get a piece of paper though."

When she returned, she not only had a piece of paper, but she had what might have been at least four different pens, all different colors.

Sheepishly she explained, "I have to make things interesting for her, or she'll get bored and won't pay attention to what I try to say. Or in this case, write."

"Is that why you do the voice and hand and facial expression thing?" Angel asked her.

"Yes, she calls it Changing. With a capital 'C'. We also have this code, she'll associate the color of choice with your name, therefore remembering you, so please chose your favorite color. It'll be hard to get her to change her mind."

"Okay, how 'bout I start." The boring lady brushed back a lock of her long hair. "My name is Anne Batcheler and my favorite color is . . . um . . . do you have a sky blue? Okay, good. I'm a stay-at-home mom." She looked to her right, where her husband was sitting.

"My name is Jeb. I'm a scientist. Put me down as dark green."

"My name is James, I'm a sophomore, and put me down as a red-orange."

"That's interesting, I don't think she's had a red-orange name before. Might I ask why?" Valencia asked.

"Not a problem. I like to ignite stuff."

"Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! My turn now! My name's Angel, I'm six, and I LOVE the color pink!"

Finally, Max came back up from doing who knows what and said, "Your name will be Fang." She stated matter-of-factly while looking at Nick, along with pointing a black Sharpe at him.

He opened his mouth to contradict her, but she slammed her hands over her ears and started to talk again. "La la la, la la! No no no! Don't say your old name! Your new name is Fang, okay?"

He slowly nodded, confused by her outburst. "Can I at least ask why?"

"You already did, but I'll still answer. It's because your— Mom, what do you call these?" She tapped her sharp tooth.

"A canine?"

"Exactly, and canines are also called . . . ?"

"Fangs?"

"Good, good. And his right one is chipped. So I named him Fang because it sounds better than Tooth, or Chip, or Canine. Coincidentally, when Fang is used as a name, it means 'Raven'."

They just stared.

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**i mean no offense to people that are/that know autistic/ADHD people, I more than likely got symptoms wrong, but those were the labels the doctors gave her because they didn't know what to do. Anyways, thanks to Catastrophe (Guest) and Rockelgriffiths14 for reviewing. **


	3. Chapter 2

Nick— or Fang, stared at the phenomenon in front of him, indirectly of course, she was actually in front of the doorway to the living room. She looked just like Maya, but was totally different. (For instance, she was normal.) But she had Maya's eyes, a gorgeous milk chocolate brown. She had Maya's hair, kind of wavy, light brown hair sunstreaked with honey blond. Only differences, he swears, are normality, Max is maybe half an inch taller, and Max has a smattering of freckles across the top of her nose.

Max sauntered over to her mother's place and scooped up the piece of notebook paper, along with several black pens.

"Ooh! A red-orange James that likes to ignite stuff." She glanced at Fang's brother, then looked again, then stared. "You know, you don't look like a James. Wanna a nickname?"

A distinctly flustered Fang seethed, "No, he doesn't need a nickname, and neither do I!"

"My dear Fang, of course thou and temporary-James need a nickname, for how else will thee remember thou?"

Valencia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, which Max zeroed in on.

"Mom, are you in physical or psychological pain?" She just shook her head in response.

Nick— Fang —watched in bemusement at the whole situation before the man in question decided to speak up, "My dear Max, of course thee would be honored to haveth thou give thee a nickname."

A beautiful smile spread across her face as she looked at the tempory-James, even though he couldn't see it, he seemed to sense it and smile back. "Sadly, I cannot name you Watson and rename myself Sherlock, but I have a feeling that we shall have a great many adventures as them. Your name will be Iggy— short for ignite." Max then (as she had already noticed that Iggy's perfectly proportioned plate was clear) swept him up and out of the room. Calling over her shoulder, she said, "Iggy and I will be in the den planning and solving various murders of zombies!"

"Honey, he can't play—" Valencia was cut off by the obvious bang! of a closed door. She turned to the remaining child/teen at the table. "If you want you can both go down as well."

"Down?" A worried Anne cut in.

"Yes, down. Max's room is the den which is in the basement, it keeps her occupied, being all set up as it is."

"How?" Angel asked sweetly, secretly wishing she had the power to mind read to skip the formality of talking.

"Well . . . I don't really know, I haven't been down there yet. She keeps me away until it's done."

"You mean you don't even know what your daughter with mental illnesses does? Who's to say she doesn't do drugs or is assaulting James!" Jeb burst out, red faced and a little sweaty. This was about the time Fang ever-so-quietly stood up, grabbed Angel's hand, and led her to the door he saw Max leading his brother through.

"_Mental illnesses?_" She spat. "My daughter is NOT mentally ill!"

He stopped right as he came to it. It looked like a regular door, which was totally weird because he was expecting . . . not that. Something crazy.

"Open the door! I want to see Max's room." Angel said in a hushed voice, she knew that when adults started pulling out their loud voices, it was time for children to be not seen and not heard.

"Fine, fine." Fang twisted the knob and ushered her inside with the chorus of horse voices shouting behind him. She would've tumbled down the stairs if Fang hadn't caught her gently while closing the door, but he did . . . and realized that he didn't hear her start to fall, he just had a stroke of luck.

A throbbing bass note repeated itself every three seconds, shaking the perpendicular cliffs of doom, and a long keening sound of a violin echoed in his ears. Just like the other night. Under his breath, his prayed to God that this wasn't actually Max's music, he would be devastated. He would have to hang out with her more to hear it, and he would remember Maya more.

He opened his eyes (when did he close them?) only to see his little sister on the last two steps, so he scrambled down as fast as he could to catch up.

Black orbs with little golden flecks swept across the room at least twice before his brain could even think of processing what was before him.

•The violin picked up in tempo, creating an urgent mood, and an occasional jarring note from a woodwind was added in, somehow bring the piece together even more.•

A small twin-sized bed was shoved to the very back of the room, like sleeping was deemed unimportant compared to everything else. In the exact center of the unusually large basement was a little four by four platform.

•Max added vocals to the song giving it more depth and painting a clear picture of destruction, desperation, and longing in Fang's mind.•

There stood Max, with a glossy, black-as-night violin pressed to her cheek, swaying in time with the music gracefully even as she brought her bow back and forth over the strings in what seemed to be a furious and chaotic manner. The walls were covered— top to bottom —with tonnes of different pieces of sheet music. And every single one of the sheets was filled to the brim with a staggering variety of symbols— what he presumed to be notes.

•Max slowed her violin as the bass became less and less frequent.•

James— Iggy —sat in a comfortable looking beanbag with tears on his face. He scanned the room again and was surprised to see to other chairs, one for Angel and him next to his brother. He sat to Iggy's right and Angel sat to his left. When the music came to a close he touched his face and came back with his hand wet, tears. Angel also cried.

"Did it work?"

Fang blinked slowly, unsure if the question was directed at him or not before Iggy answered.

"Yeah, I could see pictures, flashes of color."

Fang stared at him stunned, "What?"

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**thanks to Rockelgriffiths14, Fennendra (Guest), and Guest for reviewing! Just to let y'all know, I would like at least three reviews per chapter, but don't be afraid to go past the limit! If I don't get to three (which would make me cry) in two weeks, I'll post then.**

**I don't own MR**


	4. Chapter 3

Iggy and Max turned to face Fang with a definite _Holy mother of_ _God! When did you get here?_ face. Amusing.

Fang almost wondered why Max-with-ADHD-and-notices-everything didn't see them sooner, or hear them come in, but he took one look at the glassy/glazed over look in her eyes and the tired slump in her shoulders for him to determine the obvious: she was exhausted. But why? She didn't do anything; she didn't run a marathon, contrary to her looks.

Angel gave a soft grunt in concern, "Max are you okay?"

A strained smile and a reassurance was all she needed to go back to her normally cheery and innocent self. Fang wasn't so easily convinced.

Iggy got the conversation back on track before Fang had the chance.

"Anyways . . . my new bestest friend— sorry Fang —took me down here, and of course I'm expecting her to plop me in front of some computer and expect me to play some random game off my hearing alone. But she didn't, she sat me in a chair and started playing music. Was that live? Oh! Sick! Anyways, the music painted pictures in my mind. Now, most of it was of halfway beheaded zombies, but still . . . "

After the adults had calmed down enough to realize that it was late, and they should probably get kids sent off to bed, they shuffled down the steep steps to Max's den.

Angel was tucked under the covers of the isolated bed, fast asleep, Fang was leaning against a wall as far away from Max as he could get with his eyes closed, and the James-turned-Iggy was sprawled out across a couple chairs arranged in a line, snoring softly. The owner of the room was nowhere to be seen but a soft sound that emanated from some speakers and curled around the room, filling the groups eyelids with lead.

Valencia stumbled over to the laptop and clicked pause on the conveniently pulled up page, breaking the sleepy and calm atmosphere. The nearly-asleep people slowly blinked themselves awake while the others gradually stirred from their peaceful slumber. Anne walked over to her little girl and scooped her up, murmuring little nothings to soothe her, though not as well as the music did, and Jeb roughly shook Fang's shoulder before moving on to Iggy.

At that moment, the missing girl walked through the connecting door that happened to lead to a set of not-as-steep stairs straight to the kitchen. She stopped, why were they in her room? Then, as if three unwanted people weren't taking her guests, she proceeded to her desk and sorted the food into four not so equal piles. One with just one granola bar and an apple, and another with a blueberry muffin (the big kind) and an orange. The third one was a half-dozen of sugar glazed donuts, some beef jerky (extra spicy), and a banana. And, at last, she put an exact replica down for the fourth pile.

"You might as well let them sleep over tonight." She said, making Anne halt in her tracks. "You guys spent so long screaming about whether or not I was classified as mentally ill or not— I'm not by the way, I looked it up —that it was two in the morning when you stopped. Oh, by the way, I had everyone start winding down around ten, it is a Friday."

She made such a valid point that Jeb told his barely coherent teens what was going on, took Angel from her mom, put her to bed, and then shepherded his wife up the stairs and out of the house. When she heard the silent click of the front door, Max gave a sigh of relief.

"Honey," Max looked up, eyes for once not roaming about, at Valencia. "You used your music on . . . what's his new name? Oh yeah. On Iggy, didn't you?"

Max looked down sheepishly, it always drained her when she used her music, well for healing anyways. She nodded. And when Valencia looked like she was going to give her the evil eye—

"They're like me! I feel it, but . . . Iggy . . . he can't be blind when I unbury what they are."

"Max! You should've told me first!"

"How?" She dropped her voice to a whisper, unintentionally reminding her mother to do so as well. "All my life, I've known that any of my music, violin or not, can do things to people. I may not be able to tell what you're trying to convey to me with facial expressions, but I do know what's on the inside. I can tell when there are others, I can heal people, and I can hurt people." Her voice was laced heavily with grief. "Like I hurt Dad."

Immediately, Valencia sprung into action, wrapping her arms around Max's bony shoulders and pulling her into a tight hug. She whispered, "Not your fault. Never your fault. That's why we got you used to controlling your emotions, just in case, though you'll never have need of them. You are loved and soon you'll have a fresh start at a brand new school, no one will know."

"But I will!" She basically wailed. "I'll remember, I'll never forget!"

Iggy sat up quickly upon hearing his friend cry, (Fang was startled awake too, but he pretended otherwise, too curious of the conversation before what woke him), and he crossed over to where she was, deftly skirting around the podium before even thinking about it. "Max, shh. Relax, remember what you told me. 'Soon.' Well, you can't fall apart before I get my surprise, I mean, I'll be crushed!"

She chucked weakly at his feeble attempt to cheer her up. Max straightened and wiped her tears away, "Thanks, Iggy. Since your up I'll go ahead and teach how to make music, we can do it in the sound booth."

"Max, honey, that's lovely and all, but you need to eat first, you forgot at dinner." Valencia cut in quickly.

"I didn't forget, and no offense Iggy, but I felt weird when I even thought about eating in front of your parents."

"None taken."

"So, I'll just eat this." She claimed as she grabbed the littlest pile of breakfast foods.

She linked arms with Iggy and discretely lead him to their new destination, leaving her mom to check after the others and slowly trudge up the stairs closest to the front door.

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**oh. my. gods. Thanks so much for the reviews! Questions and comments make me so very insanely happy! Thanks so much to CrimsonTearsWillFlow, Allana, the Guest that gave me advice on symptoms, Rockelgriffiths14, and the Guest worried about FAX. Yes, the list you gave me Guest did help, and I'm sorry other Guest, but I can't tell you the pairing. (But I'll give you a hint, it starts with F and ends with X.)**

**I don't own MR**


	5. Chapter 4

Iggy was probably having the time of his life right then. He and Max were experimenting, and it was actually fun (though it had nothing to do with bombs). Max, being the bestest best friend in the history of ever, took the time to explain what their goal was, and how to achieve it, instead of letting him participate, but ultimately controlling the situation, just so he was 'a natural' at something. He sucked!

But that wasn't the point, the point was the experimenting. She would say what part of the song the need (bass, up down beat, et cetera) and then click through what she had while taking mental notes on the ones that made him 'see' bursts of colors.

Then, she had told him to pick any instrument appealed to him— apparently she can play anything. But he just stuck with the violin on the first one, to be safe.

"Iggy, what do you want me to play?"

"Am I supposed to name a song?"

"No! I don't like playing other people's songs, it feels weird. I meant, what picture slash video do you want to see?"

"Well, we did tragically violent earlier, so . . . I guess I need to listen to something sad to balance it out." He had a moment of brilliance, sheer, undiluted, brilliance. "Since the music helps me . . ." He trailed off, almost feeling stupid when he tried to say his idea out loud.

"You want Fang to listen to the sad song." It was phrased as a question, but was clearly a statement.

"Would it be okay?"

She sighed heavily, but she didn't really care, "If you can convince him. Go on, scat."

He was amazed at her ability to trust him to remember his way back, normally people lead him around everywhere. It made him want to scream, I'm blind, you assholes! Not helpless! In hindsight, he knew the weren't donkeys, they were people just trying to help, but it still annoyed him.

"Fang!" He mock yelled, "Where are ya, Bro?"

"In the same place, Bro."

"Good. All's according to plan." He nodded.

"What?"

Iggy stopped moving, there was no point in going farther, he had Fang's attention. "You need to hear the song I made." It wasn't technically made by him, nor was it all the way finished, but he trusted Max, at least, he trusted Max with a trivial thing as this.

"Um . . ."

"Please, I did a good job." Cleverly, he avoided bringing up Max because it seemed as if Fang didn't like her all that well, yet. He would warm up eventually.

Fang sighed, and Iggy did a mental victory dance, two steps to the right, two to the left. Repeat. Add inspirational music. And add a little groove. Mix thoroughly.

"This way, peasant!"

Tiredly, Fang followed to too-perky Iggy and left behind the still sleeping Angel. He almost told Iggy to bring Angel too, but if a song was a couple minutes long, he would, he should, be back by the time she woke up.

He shuffled behind Iggy past the performing platform, to the desk (where they both siezed the two biggest piles of the delicious looking food), and to a small door hidden by a waterfall of thick, fuzzy blankets pinned to the wall. Without hesitation, Iggy shoved aside a seemingly random blue blanket and disappeared from view.

Wow, not mysterious at all.

Fang spaced out a few seconds and was startled from thought by a floating head, "Coming?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I am. Sorry."

He pushed past they blankets, failed miserably, and reemerged on the other side, hair standing on end.

"Don't move!" On instinct, he froze instantly. Only later did he wonder why he obeyed the order when he realized it came from Max. "I want to touch it." Iggy laughed and Fang noticed that Max's eyes reverted back to their usual, roaming selves. (Much to his dismay.) "Iggy here, he said that you wanted to listen in."

"No! I never sai—"

"But this song wasn't made for you, so I have no idea what you'll see. One condition, though."

Her hand reached out and her eyes were fixated on him, not moving, which was almost as creepy. For a wild, crazy second, he thought she was going to poke his eye, but then she poked his hair. A blue-white flash brightened the room before traveling down Max's arm. Abruptly, Max fell on her butt, swaying and looking a little woozy.

"Woah. What a rush. Never do that." Max covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide, and then ran off in a random direction.

Iggy nodded sympathetically, "I know how you feel! You vommit in that toilet, girl! Run faster to the throne room!" He shouted. Then he turned to Fang. "Epic mishap while making bombs. Oh, and she wants you to get her some food from the kitchen. Hold on a sec, I have a list:

-the loaf of bread

-the jar of peanut butter

-ketchup

And . . .

-barbeque chips."

Fang mentally vomited, it sounged as if she was planning a lunch of gross proportions for herself.

Fifteen minutes later, Fang had: gotten the food, delivered it, checked on Angel (turns out it was like six in the morning), and returned to find a sad Iggy and a sufficiently fed Max. Surrounded by nothing. The food. Was. Gone.

He just blinked slowly, trying to comprehend the impossible.

"Okay, Fang-y Poo. Sit there, Iggy is already sitting, and I'll be the DJ." He could swear he heard her mutter a little, sarcastic, 'yay!' as she put on some headphones.

•The song started with the flimsy tinkling of a piano, the same eight notes repeated a couple of time. Then came a halt. Everything was silent.•

Fang was plunged into a vivid memory as the music started back up suddenly. He and Maya on the beach, holding hands, smiling, and goofing off.

He recognized it immediately. It was their— in his opinion —best day they spent together. He had it all pre-planned out, secluded beach, romantic intentions that managed to get spun into an all-out sand and water fight.

Then, flash forward a couple hours later, he wanted to drive her home around six-ish, but she had convinced him to head home without her instead, so she could look at the stars.

At ten, he got the phone call. She was dead. _Dead._ Because he didn't insist on staying with her or taking her home then.

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**thank you my three reviewers! They are . . . Actress4theLord, Violet wingz of a demigod, and shiipitlikeFedEx ! Thanks guys? Did I confuse you with the last chapter? If so, send me a PM or any other form of communication so I can explain. Or, if you want me to do longer chapters, catch grammar mistakes, or want to criticize, go ahead.**

**I don't own MR**


	6. Chapter 5

•The main beat and bass beat slowly drifted away, leaving the same eight notes from the beginning to play. And then that too was quiet.•

Max resurfaced from 'her zone' about two seconds after the final note simmered away. She sluggishly removed her noise I can felling headphones and blinked her eyes lethargically. Each motion she made felt like she was attempting to wade through tar, her limbs were heavy, and Iggy was freaking out. She felt like shouting, Okay, okay. We get it, you can see fuzzy shapes now! But chose not to, due to the fact she could hardly stand.

Never before had she tried healing two times in less than twenty four hours, and never would she again. Too tiring. Slowly, like it was moving in slow motion, the world kept growing taller, a definitely more weird version of how Alice had to get through the door, and, even stranger, it was moving backwards. Then it finally clicked, she had laid down, and probably not in slow motion.

She hasn't realized how weird her ceiling was. Speckled with excess plaster and different paint colors, she would need to fix that. A solid black would look nice. In the back of her mind she was vaguely aware of a figure crouched down beside her, shaking her left shoulder. But she couldn't seem to unstick her jaws to speak, nor did she really want to either, she just wanted to sleep. She was concerned for herself now, she couldn't close her eyes to sleep, blinking she could do, but apparently sleeping was not allowed in her barely conscious state.

A muffled, "What did you do?" Broke through her haze, the voice sounded really familiar. Almost like . . . oh. It was her mother.

Mom

Valencia

Dr. Martinez

Dr. Mom

Dr. M

Max wanted to leap around her room with glee. She found a nickname for her mom! Dr. M!

She felt someone's hand press two unfamiliar things in her ears, and one of her old healing tracks, one of the ones that promoted more energy and wasn't as potent, started playing softly in her ears. At last, darkness washed over her.

"Max, time to wake up, Sweet Heart." She nodded her head but kept her eyes firmly shut, trying to savor the few moments when all the could do was hear. Dr. M's voice was stern, but because Max didn't have her eyes open, Changing wouldn't help all that much.

"What day is it?" She asked as she pried her eyes open, it was if they were glued together.

"Sunday. They left a little while after you went to sleep yesterday." Max nodded feebly in response and struggled her way into a sitting position, she knew her mom was scolding her, so she kept her eyes distracted by roaming the many music ideas on her walls and tuned it out by playing said ideas as she read them. Some of them were really good.

"Mom, I need to go make a song."

Valencia was furious, Max just woke up from trying to heal that boy, and she's no doubt trying to make another now. Why did she push this so fast? It was almost too fast, to rushed, in her opinion. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off right then by Max.

"I know, you think I'm pushing too hard, but I have a valid reason." Valencia waited an awkward thirty seconds before Max realized that she wasn't going to say, 'Why?' Max looked a little miffed that she didn't humor her. "Okay, well, I have this feeling that they're like me, but Iggy needs to be whole, so he can fully protect himself when we undoubtedly have to go on the run. And I also have another sneaking suspicion that Fang will take a lot to convince."*****

Valencia sighed and scrubbed her hands across her face hard. She did see Max's point, and, as a mother, she preferred to have her daughter ready to take on anything. She Changed just her voice this time (was it just her or was Max's ADHD getting better?), "Promise me one thing, though."

Max wildly nodded.

"Only do the healing on the weekends, okay? And no more live ones today." Max reared back and was about to vehemently spit out a response but a look that said shut-up-I'm-being-generous-right-now from Dr.M quickly made her click her jaws back together.

"Not a problem." She pecked her mom on the cheek and leapt up from the bed, all previous signs of being tired were out of the nonexistent window. "Thanks, Mom!" She raced off, leaving a distinctly proud Valencia sitting on her lonely bed.

"Iggy, wait up!" Max called out to a pair of boys as she sprinted as fast as she could to catch up with the boy that began to slow motion walk while the other kept on going. "I have something for you," she panted as she pressed one of her many iPods into his hand.

He looked a little wary, "Thanks, Max, but I already have—"

"It has all of my new tracks." She lowered her voice drastically upon seeing his eyes widen, then darken with suspicion and a lot of worry. "This is going to be a little confusing. What you think _might_ be happening, is _actually_ happening, but you can't tell until what happens, happens. Whenever you want, as long as it's in private, I'll explain everything."

Iggy smiled, and because the unspoken question was answered, the tension between them melted faster than butter in a microwave. They practically skipped the whole way to the bus stop, and Max's chocolate-brown eyes roamed the streets memorizing the different places where one could hide or escape from. Time to take her 'curse' and turn it into a wonderful gift, paranoia is truely a beautiful thing.

Five minutes later the bus chugged its way up the street and then thumped to a stop in front of them. Fang completely ignored the duo, except when Max linked her arm through Iggy's, then he shot a glare back at him, who obviously didn't catch it, being blind and all. Max did, and she totally thought he was being stupid, how else is Iggy supposed to know when to step down, then up up up, then turn to the left, and find a place to sit? Boys. Max resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him, or, at least, at his back.

Max stepped up, smiled at the kindly looking bus driver while trying not to gag from the smoke fumes, and dragged Iggy to sit by a nice looking, dark skinned girl with extremely curly hair.

"Hi, the name's Max, and I think you should get a perm to straighten your hair, get bangs, and dye a strip of them white."

Iggy's pale blue eyes widened when he heard her bluntness, and Fang smirked faintly from the seat behind them (he followed them.) To Max's not-so-surprised surprise, the girl spun around in her seat with wide eyes and an even wider smile.

"ZOMG! I was totally wondering what I should do, thanks. My name is Monique, but I've always wanted a nickname. Have you ever had a nickname, woah, is Max your nickname. Or are you just really good at nicknames? 'Cause I'm totally getting this vibe from you, something to do with nicknames."

"Your welcome. Nice to meet you. No, I've never had a nickname, Max is is short for Maximum, and yes. I am amazing at nicknames. And I have a question for you. I have a feeling people don't quite appreciate your lung capacity and try to get you to shut up. What is their most common method?"

She looked almost unnerved at the fact someone kept up with her speech. "Uh . . . they nudge me, I guess."

"Good. Your name is now Nudge." Max closed her eyes for three seconds, opened them, and smiled. "Hey, my name's Max— short for Maximum. What's yours?"

Nudge smiled back. "Hey, Max. My name's Nudge.

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**hey guys, just wanted to say two major things before going on to minor news.**

**1. I missed yesterdays post because I had to get an MRI**

**2. My posts might slow down slightly, and I'm thinking I want four reviews per chapter now**

**Minor News: the astric after Max's explanation to her mom is the reason that I'm pushing for Iggy to heal so fast. Secondly, I need your guys' help! I've decided that nobody will have wings, but all flock members will ha e their other powers (except that Max has her music instead) and since Iggy can feel colors . . . he'll have no power unless y'all PM/review/other means of communication me.**


	7. Author Note

**Okay guys. I'm grounded, so I'll only be able to type at school. In other words, slower updates.**


	8. Chapter 6

Max, Nudge, and Iggy got along really well and chatted for the rest of the bus ride to school with Fang interjecting with his opinion here and there. Everyone compared schedules (not surprisingly, Max already had hers memorized and the map of the school). Nudge was a year younger than them, but she had the same lunch as Max and Fang (Iggy had art. Art! For goodness sakes!), and she was advanced in math, so she had that with Iggy. Max, being the naturally lazy person she is, didn't sign up for any advanced classes, and opted to just ace the normal ones. (Photographic memory does help sometimes.)

Eventually, the bus lurched to a complete stop, and the kids scrambled off, well, except for Max. She was the last off because she had a nice conversation with the bus driver, whom she deemed 'worthy of adulation'.

"Max!" Fang hissed. "You have got to stop acting like that!"

"Like what?" She asked 'naïvely'.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, looked her in the eyes, and said, "Don't talk to me today because I don't know you. You don't know me. You're just the new freak at school, got it?"

Max's eyes widened and started to fill with tears, a few spilt out and tumbled down her cheeks. In a voice full of laughter she called out, "Iggy! I owe you five dollars!" She began to laugh hysterically. "You even got what he said exactly right.!"

Due to her overly loud voice, tears rolling down her face, and her clutching her stomach because she was laughing so hard, all eyes turned to them. Iggy bounded over, able to navigate with his hearing and the very, very, small amount of sight he had with a grin on his face.

"Cough it up." He commanded. Max caught her breath and waved Nudge over with the lure of a magic trick. As soon as she got there, the pack of people tightened their ranks, circling around the group to watch the most definitely interesting new girl.

Max held up a finger at the expectant crowd. She coughed once, then a second time, then double over as horrible coughs racked her slight frame. Something fell to the ground. Max pulled herself back up and smiled, "Iggy, pick it up."

He crouched down and felt around until his searching fingers felt a barely damp piece of paper. "I believe that is what I owe you."

Everybody clapped so hard, that their hands turned red and smarted terribly. Fang stared with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

'This old gal has a few aces up her sleeves.' Max thought smugly.

For the rest of the day, Max scanned everyone, walked with her head held high, and was basically treated like royalty. (Who knew that teenagers are willing to serve someone if they prove themselves? (Parents pay attention to this information!)) For instance, some senior guy bought her three slices of pizza and a dinky looking carton of chocolate milk, and then some poor nerdy looking dude, whom Max thought was forced to, offered to do her homework for her. They're lucky she didnt take that as an insult to her inteligence.

Max huffed in annoyance. 'Ignorant, horrible, awful teens.' She thought savagely as she sat with her arms crossed in science, the one class she had with Fang.

"Miss Martinez! Are you paying attention?" Mr. Sunner demanded.

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, sir."

He grinned maniacally. "So, I bet you won't mind answering this question, will you?" He pointed at a question written so small the people sitting in the first row had to squint really hard to be able to see it.

"Please read the question verbatum."

He looked shocked. Had he not ever had student ask this before? "Um . . ."

"Don't tell me you don't know what you wrote yourself!" Max looked around, making eye contact with several people. "That would be totally embarassing," she said while nodding slowly, encouraging the others to do the same. Everyone, unanimously, agreed.

"No!" He replied in a defensive tone. "The question is: Name all of Newton's Laws."

"Okay, one, that's not a question, and two, I learned what those were in middle school, isn't this a high school class?" Mr. Sunner looked extremely flustered.

"I can make you go to the principal's office." He tried to threaten.

"Actually, you can't." She propped her brand new Converse on the desk and inclined backwards. "According to the basic principles of this glorious country, I am a free person, of my own free will. Therefore, you technically can't tell me what to do, but you can leave suggestions." She smirked at the faces of everyone in the classroom, and almost took a picture, but then realized that she would have to many by the end of the year, so she took a pretty amazing image (if she does say so herself) of the hilarious scene.

"Okay, then." She said after a lengthy moment of silence. "Students, I will be teaching this class, Mr. Sunner, you can sit in my old desk. Please pay attention in class." She got up and ushered the previous teacher out of his seat.

"Please open your textbooks to page 307, we will be working on . . ."

"Mom! I'm home, and Iggy, Nudge, and Fang are here!" Max shouted at the top of her lungs.

"Why's Fang here, I thought he didn't want to talk to you for the school year because you're a freak?" The tops of the aforementioned person's ears turned pink.

"I'm his teacher now, and I purposely didn't give him the homework so he would have to come over."

"Oh, really?" She asked as she came down the stairway.

"Yes, really. The science teacher was a bafoon."

Valencia laughed quietly and shook her head. Only her daughter would do that. Max smiled and led her friends down to the den, brushing by her mom and whispering,

"Found another."

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**sorry for the wait, but I got it in! Running out of time, so I can't list all of my reviewers, but I love them all equally. Until next time!**

**I don't own MR**


	9. Unfortunately an Author's Note Again

**Hey, guys and gals! I'm officially ungrounded, and I know that I'm a horrible author for not posting one of the many chapters I have written right away, but I have a question for all of you. Should I, or should I not, write the story in first person? I'll try to do whatever y'all want . . . as long as I don't have to do a youngster's POV. (They're hard to write.) Or I can just keep going as is.**

**Review!**

**PM!**

**Other form of communication as long as it doesn't involve stalking! **

**— Snarky-Teen**


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